


Little Ordinary Things

by Ingu



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Asexuality, Devotion, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Internalized Misogyny, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Obliviousness, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4920922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingu/pseuds/Ingu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the gun goes off, Illya doesn’t think as he throws himself in front of Napoleon.</p><p>He doesn’t die, but he makes a lot of people angry, Napoleon most of all. He tries to make Illya swear he’ll never do something that stupid again.</p><p>Illya refuses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Ordinary Things

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not quite sure what this is, but here we are. Gentle warning for a less than flattering portrayal of Gaby. Beta-ed by the lovely [donestiel](http://donestiel.tumblr.com) and [artionn](http://artionn.tumblr.com/), all remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Chinese translation available [here](http://www.movietvslash.com/thread-190999-1-1.html) (registration required).

Illya isn’t sure how to explain to Napoleon that he isn’t interested in Gaby.

It doesn’t mean he wasn’t interested in Gaby, once. Gaby is beautiful, tenacious, and strong. She comes with a dangerous edge, something jagged, broken, and pointed outward like sharpened barbs, warning anyone who may do her wrong. Gaby has the right mix of caution and resilience which means that with training and experience, she will become one of the best agents in UNCLE. Upon their first meeting, Gaby pulls Illya toward her with the same force that ensures kindred souls will inadvertently gather.

She is the first woman Illya has been close to in years. They even shared a kiss once, in Istanbul. After the bare pressing of lips, they had stepped apart confused. Nothing even close to the fire of lust came after, and they'd settled into an easy friendship Illya had never thought to expect.

Yet Napoleon, despite all evidence to the contrary, seems convinced that the two of them belong together. He leaves them alone at every opportunity, and always recommends Illya for missions instead of taking his turn to play Gaby’s boyfriend or husband or fiancé. None of it is necessary, for with every passing day, Illya comes to understand that he had been attracted more to the idea of Gaby than the person she really is. But despite what should be obvious, the fact never seems to dawn on Napoleon. He will always leave.

Every time the door closes behind Cowboy’s back, Illya is left with a strangely empty feeling inside. He wishes that Napoleon knew it’s okay for him to stay, that there is never going to be anything between him and Gaby. Also, to be honest, he is a much better chess opponent than Gaby, if only for the reason that he is actually willing to play.

There are a lot of things Illya wants to tell Napoleon. But he isn’t sure why Napoleon really needs to know.

 

-

 

Napoleon is always looking for company. Eventually, Illya gets bored enough he starts a mental tally. In Dublin, Napoleon seduces a secretary, tiny and blonde with a sunny smile. In Las Vegas, it’s a casino dealer, with long brown hair and doe eyes. There are two in Athens, a waitress and a flight attendant.

He takes to watching Napoleon, studying all the ways he flirts. How when Napoleon quirks his lips just so your heart will skip a beat, and how when he studies you from under those long lashes your mouth might go dry and want will curl in your stomach. Unlike Gaby who wears her toughness like armor, Napoleon hides his brand of danger beneath silk and diversion. Women turn toward him like flowers longing for the sun. Illya thinks it’s not really their fault, especially when Cowboy has a face that looks as though it was lovingly sculpted from marble.

When you pay attention for long enough, a pattern emerges from Napoleon’s history of conquests. Illya is a good spy, so he doesn’t miss the way Napoleon will trail after towering blondes over petite brunettes, and prefers the challenge of standoffish ladies over those who are warm and approachable. There had been a moment in Rome where Illya had wondered if Napoleon was unwilling, but when he sees Cowboy bed his third Vinciguerra look-alike in Tangier, Illya’s doubts dim and disappear.

Sometimes, when Illya is alone in front of the bathroom mirror, he’ll catch himself staring with a frown, wondering if Napoleon wouldn’t have flirted with him too if he had been born a woman.

The thought can’t actually go anywhere, but it appears enough times to confuse him.

 

-

 

Illya doesn’t give up on bugging Napoleon’s belongings, and each time, Napoleon shows up at his door with ruffled feathers. He has to hide a smirk each time Napoleon either throws Illya’s trackers at him like popcorn kernels or just dumps them into his hand. Provoking Cowboy creates a constant source of joy.

It’s fun for Illya to hunt through his hotel room and his luggage for the American’s trackers. The expression on Napoleon’s face when he realizes Illya has uncovered each and every one never fails to be thrilling. Sometimes, Illya deliberately misses a few, just to enjoy the spark in Napoleon’s eyes when he thinks he’s won. Illya gets used to the anticipation, finds excitement in the wait for that sharp knock against his door.

Each time a new mission begins, so does the countdown. Sometimes it takes a day or two, and other times, it will barely take an hour before Napoleon is at his door again.

It’s like a game, this back and forth.

 

-

 

From the first slap in Rome, Gaby progresses to casual pinches, and then becomes unnecessarily violent when sparring. She is never concerned about hurting Illya, and he takes it all without complaint. He’s strong enough to stop her if he really wants to, though he doesn’t always know when to expect the pain. Eventually, Illya takes to avoiding her, wary of the anxiousness he feels sometimes when she comes too close too suddenly.

Napoleon, when he notices, takes issue with Gaby’s overt physicality. In Singapore, when an irritated Gaby swats at Illya a little too hard and he can’t hide a wince, Napoleon steps in.

“Is that really necessary?” he says. “It’s not Peril’s fault we’re stuck here without any leads.”

“I don’t need your help, Cowboy.” Illya waits until they’re alone later to respond. “She was only venting.”

“There are healthier ways to do that without turning someone into a punching bag,” Napoleon replies, eyeing Illya with open skepticism. “You know that right?”

“I will stop her if it’s an issue.”

Napoleon doesn’t look anywhere near convinced, and there’s frustration on his face Illya doesn’t like. Illya has every right to be mad at Napoleon for his meddling, he should be mad. But it’s the first time anyone beside his mother has tried to defend him, and the warmth that flows through his veins is far too gentle to be anger.

 

-

 

In Dresden, Napoleon brings the entire operation to a grinding halt when he sees the painting in their target’s hidden vault.

“That is a genuine Botticelli,” Napoleon hisses, his eyes dark with fury. “We can’t leave it here. Once she fences it, every cent will go to those neo-Nazis.”

“It is not part of the mission,” Illya says through clenched teeth.

“We already have what we came for; they’ll just think they’ve been robbed. You know we can get away with this.”

The truth is, they can. The temporary staff shortage at the facility (contaminated cafeteria food, courtesy of Gaby) means that the next patrol won’t pass by for at least another six minutes. They have an unobstructed path from here to the exit vehicle.

“They’re Nazis, Peril,” Napoleon says, staring him with sad eyes.

This is ridiculous. Illya stares back at Napoleon, willing him to change his mind. It's an unnecessary risk, but Napoleon has a point about Nazis. It goes against principle and discipline, but the way Napoleon looks at him makes it impossible to walk away.

Blame slips into Napoleon's expression, and Illya’s resolve crumbles.

They sneak through the hallways of the facility, carrying the canvas between them in what has to be an absurd sight. No one catches them.

 

-

 

When they visit the museum Waverly donated the Botticelli to, Napoleon stands in front of it beaming like a five year old. 

Illya stares, a little addicted to the light in Napoleon’s eyes, and thinks there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Napoleon to keep looking like that.

He’s smiling too, but he doesn’t realize it until too late, and Napoleon’s grin is pointed at him instead.

 

-

 

In Mumbai, Napoleon befriends a stray cat, and names it Heathcliff.

Illya isn’t sure where Cowboy got the name, and his blank expression when Napoleon first mentions it makes the American shake his head in disappointment. Napoleon tells him he needs to read more, Illya says he reads plenty.

The cat is a skittish, scraggly thing with orange fur. It hates all humans with equal vitriol, with the only exception being Napoleon, who it will rub against and jump into the arms of. On the second night, Illya comes home to find the cat curled on Napoleon’s chest, purring. Napoleon, despite having promised a beautiful woman his company for the evening, is sprawled on the bed fast asleep.

(When Illya is sure he’s the only one around, he crouches in front of the cat and offers it a piece of chicken as a peace offering. It tries to scratch him and then scampers away.)

Strangely enough, Illya sort of understands the reasons why the cat picked Napoleon. Cowboy’s chest is broad, his hands are gentle, and when he looks at you a certain way, it is impossible to stay mad or suspicious. Napoleon always looks at you like he cares, and you learn that it’s because he does. He has a way of making you feel safer in his company. If Illya was a cat, he’d probably also choose Napoleon as his human.

The day they’re due to go back, Napoleon barely moves from the ratty couch in the main room, the cat purring in his lap as he strokes its fur. Instead of packing, he leaves a bowl of food and water on a ledge outside.

There are a few hours to spare before extraction, so Illya ventures back on to the streets. He finds an old contact in the back of a textiles store, and calls in a favor so someone will keep an eye on the animal. 

This way, the cat might be still around if they ever return. If that happens, Napoleon would be overjoyed.

 

-

 

Illya still hasn’t quite worked out what Napoleon’s favorite dish is, but he knows Cowboy has a weakness for seafood pasta. In Barcelona, Illya tries cooking.

Their safehouse is right by the ocean, and Illya only needs to walk a few blocks to the nearest seafood market. He buys salmon, because he secretly likes it best, and finds a grocery nearby that sells handmade pasta and other ingredients.

Cutting things into the same size with a knife turns out to have a significant difference from stabbing people, and the chopped ingredients don’t quite turn out the same. There’s a little too much pepper in the sauce, and he also underestimates how long it will take to cook fettuccine.

When the door opens near 7p.m. and Napoleon walks in, Illya is glaring at the boiling pot.

“Is that… do I smell Carbonara?”

“Maybe,” Illya grumbles, arms crossed.

“Good, I’m starving.” The American clatters around the apartment.

“Who said it’s for you?”

There’s the sound of creaking floorboards. Napoleon wanders into the kitchen, and peeks at the pot from behind Illya. “I’m not sure even you can eat that much pasta, Peril.”

That is true. “Then go set the table.”

Napoleon acquiesces with a nod, and goes to open cupboards. “Is there an occasion, or…?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Napoleon says, stepping back with bowls and cutlery in his hand. “It’s just, I’ve just never seen you cook before.”

It’s Illya’s first time. But recipes aren’t hard to follow. He’s not sure if it’s obvious, but when Napoleon takes the first bite, his eyes light up, and the knot in Illya’s stomach loosens a little. Napoleon’s eyes crinkle when he smiles, and he teases Illya mercilessly, but all of it is nothing but praise. By the time they finish, Illya finds himself fighting not to smile.

After dinner, Napoleon takes all the dishes and goes to wash them in the sink. Illya thinks he might cook again soon, maybe soup. Napoleon likes chicken soup.

 

-

 

Of all the things Napoleon could have given him for his birthday, Napoleon hands Illya a pebble, and calls it a pet.

There is even a crooked smiling face drawn on it with black marker, and according to Cowboy, it is currently all the rage. It is sturdy, durable, low-maintenance, and a perfect companion for their lifestyle.

Illya isn’t quite sure how it works, for people to take this silent, unfeeling object and attribute life to it. He almost wants to take it as an insult. But the more Cowboy talks, the clearer it is that he’s actually put thought into it. He had spent a lot of time finding the perfect pebble, Napoleon says, one that is the right shape and size and smoothness so it might properly fit those giant hands of Illya’s.

It’s Napoleon’s gift to him, so Illya slips it into his pocket. The weight of it against his thigh, he finds, is reassuring.

 

-

 

Their meeting point in Naples is next to an antique store. Playing the part of an afternoon shopper, Illya studies the display, examining everything from furniture to books to lapel pins. There’s a small metal wolf sitting in a strip of sun, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Oh, look at that,” says Napoleon when he saunters up to Illya. “Peril, it’s you.”

There’s also an old teddy bear and a cymbal monkey toy. Illya isn’t quite sure what Napoleon is referring to, and he doesn’t bother to ask.

Two hours later, they find the thief trying to sell UNCLE intelligence. Under the fading light, Napoleon’s smile is blinding, and his eyes are the same blue as the dark Tyrrhenian Sea.

 

-

 

For Napoleon’s birthday, Illya carves him a little wooden fox.

He starts in November, when he finds an appropriate block of material in the timber yard their target is hiding in. The tools are more of a problem, but he picks up a chisel here and a knife there, and by Christmas, he has a workable kit hidden away in his luggage. He works on the figure only when he’s certain he’s alone, or that Napoleon is in the company of yet another woman. It’s a calming hobby, and he tucks the gift in progress away in his luggage during missions. Napoleon had stopped bothering to track Illya a few months back, so it is never discovered.

When Illya hands over the tiny figure, Napoleon’s eyes are wide with curiosity. The lines are slightly crude, but Illya has sanded its surface countless times, and it is smooth to the touch.

“Did you…”

“I saw it in a store,” Illya lies efficiently. “It’s one of a kind.”

He offers the information without thinking. Maybe Napoleon would like it better this way, knowing it’s special.

Napoleon studies the fox some more, turning it over in his hand, and the furrow in his brow deepens. Illya waits, tense, for Napoleon’s response. Perhaps the craftsmanship has given him away.

“A fox?” When Napoleon looks up, his eyes are bright.

“It reminded me of you.”

 

-

 

Napoleon had been right about his present. The pebble is easy to carry around, and attracts less attention than his father’s watch. Most of the time, Illya can just put it away and then forget about it. In times of emergency, it is useful.

In Hong Kong, a guard has his gun pointed at Napoleon, who is backing away slowly and already making up excuses.

Illya is too far away to intervene, but he’s safe in the shadows. He aims and throws. The man crumples to the ground with barely a sound.

Napoleon jumps back, staring at the unconscious guard in surprise.

“Did you just throw a rock at him?” Napoleon says when Illya approaches. Illya can’t tell if Cowboy is bewildered or impressed.

“It was the only thing I had,” Illya replies, searching around for the stone before he finds it in the grass few meters away. He walks over and picks it up.

Knowing Napoleon, he’s bound to press the issue. So Illya braces himself for the next question, wondering how Napoleon is treating his fox. He hasn’t seen it since giving it to Napoleon months ago, and maybe this will be the right time to bring it up.

He turns, and his partner is bent over the guard, playing with the man’s radio.

 

-

 

In the Austrian countryside, Gaby and Napoleon’s escape vehicle slips, swerves, and rolls down the edge of the road. Illya chokes on a scream.

He wastes no time shooting out the tires of the car they are chasing, and it follows the same path, swerving and skidding, finally smacking into a tree with a terrible crash. Illya slams the brakes on his own vehicle and tears out of it, sprinting toward his team.

Napoleon is limp inside the wreck, his eyes closed, and his clothes darkening with red. Illya slips and slides down the rough terrain until he finally makes it. In the next second, his fingers are wrapping around Napoleon’s arms, and he’s straining to drag him away through the shattered window. It takes too long before Napoleon is freed.

The air is frozen in his lungs, and panic chases his heart as Illya pulls Cowboy into his arms. He calls his name, Napoleon, over and over, checks Cowboy’s injuries, slaps his face, brushes back his curling hair. Until finally, Napoleon’s eyes blink open, and Illya is staring into a sea of confused blue.

Only then is it possible to breathe again. Tension drains from his muscles, and relief hits Illya with such force he has to fight the urge to laugh.

Somewhere, there’s a soft groan. Illya remembers Gaby, but Napoleon’s head is lying against his chest, and Illya can’t move.

 

-

 

Then Illya loses the rock, and figures out his feelings by accident.

When he first realizes it’s gone, he doesn’t panic, because it’s only a pebble. But it was Napoleon’s gift, so he goes around looking for it.

He goes to medical first, because he had been recovering from a stab wound and it’s most likely where the stone has ended up. But when he asks the nurses and doctors, they just stare at him in confusion, and shake their heads.

Then, he makes a call to the evac team that had pulled them out of their last mission. The man on the line tells him he has no idea what he’s talking about, with a tone that suggests he thinks Illya might be crazy.

Tearing apart his assigned room gives him nothing. After, Illya sits on his bed with his head in his hands, swallowing back the feeling that most definitely is not panic. It was just a rock, but it was Napoleon’s gift. Fear edges toward hysteria and Illya fights the most obvious explanation for the way he feels.

Much later, Gaby comes by to drop off some documents, and gapes at the wreckage in his room. “Did you have another-“

“Something like that,” Illya replies flatly, flipping open the folder. He keeps his gaze lowered so Gaby won’t see his red eyes.

In the end, Illya uncovers the pebble in the archives, bagged and stored as evidence for some unknowable reason. When he gets it back to his room, Illya washes it with soap and water, and pats it dry softly with his towel.

Then, he carefully traces over the fading smile with a black marker, and slips it back into his pocket.

 

-

 

Once Illya knows, he can’t stop thinking.

The thought of kissing Napoleon is a strange, but pleasant thing. Yet most of all, Illya wants to touch. Rationally, logically, Illya understands that some things will never happen. Yet it doesn’t stop his imagination from offering scene after impossible scene, each with Napoleon at the center. Napoleon curled on the bed beside him, tucked so close their foreheads are touching, pressing soft kisses to Illya’s lips with no intent but affection. Napoleon with his head in Illya’s lap, reading aloud passages from whatever book he’s found, Illya playing with the fluffy, curly strands of his untreated hair. Napoleon, silhouetted against the setting sun, solid and warm, leaning back against him when Illya slips in close and wraps his arms tightly around Napoleon’s waist. Napoleon buttering toast for Illya from across the breakfast table, Napoleon’s hand hidden in Illya’s pocket as they meander along city streets. Napoleon, Napoleon, Napoleon.

A pillow is sometimes enough to fill the emptiness in his arms, at other times, heavy covers pulled around his shoulders is enough to chase away the cold. Illya learns that sheets tangled in his legs are enough to anchor him to an empty bed.

During the waking hours, the pebble is a reassuring weight against his heart.

 

-

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep with anyone,” Napoleon says in Amsterdam. They’re sitting together out on the hotel balcony, staring out over the Amstel River. The lights are off, and the stars glitter above them.

“Not everyone is like you, Cowboy,” Illya says, watching as a tiny boat drifts through the water. Napoleon is on his fourth drink. Any more and he’ll be waking up with a hangover, and Illya makes up his mind to stop him if he tries to pour another. “Some of us have self-control.”

“Oh, come on,” Napoleon grumbles, “everyone has to let off some steam once in a while.”

“I don’t.”

In the academy, they had commended Illya for his discipline, told him he was an example to others. It hadn’t been hard for him to do well. Illya doesn’t understand why Napoleon feels the need to throw himself in front of every beautiful woman who walks past. 

Napoleon glances at him, his expression unreadable in the dark.

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right woman.”

“Maybe.” Illya had never really felt the need. He’d thought it would change, and one day he would meet that one person who will light fires in his chest. 

In some ways, he did. But instead of a sweet, strong woman there is Napoleon, and Illya has never craved anyone’s attention so badly.

Silence, and Illya can feel the weight of Napoleon’s gaze resting upon him. 

“Are you by any chance still a virgin?” Cowboy says carefully.

“I don’t see how that’s important.” Illya’s lips press into a frown. The academy had provided the necessary training, though he’s never had to use his skills in the field. 

“So you are.”

“No. But it is none of your business.”

“Maybe I could help.”

Illya stills, his frustration shifting into confusion, and his heart begins to pound painfully in his chest. “Do not joke.”

“What if I’m not joking?” Napoleon murmurs. 

Then, he is slipping from his chair and lowering himself before Illya. Napoleon’s blue eyes are dark as he leans forward, and Illya stares, frozen in alarm. Their lips stop just short of meeting, and there is a predatory glint in Napoleon’s eye as he waits, poised to strike. 

Illya’s mind is blank. He doesn’t think to push Napoleon away, he doesn’t want to push him away. Napoleon has never willingly come this close, but Illya doesn’t know what to do with the intent he can read in Napoleon’s actions. He wants this, but he doesn’t want this at the same time.

Napoleon studies him, and presses his lips to Illya’s.

It is wonderful, it is terrifying. Illya sits there, stiff, elated, wanting, yet he doesn’t think to kiss Napoleon back.

Napoleon pauses, and pulls away with a hum.

“My apologies,” he murmurs, and something icy grips Illya’s heart. “I thought-“

Napoleon backs away, his embarrassment written in the tense line of his shoulders. Then, he tucks his hands in his pockets, and disappears indoors.

The night is cold. Illya sits frozen in his chair, wondering for the first time ever if he isn’t broken.

 

-

 

To prove something to himself, between missions in Maine, Illya goes out to a bar.

The woman he chooses fits all the usual standards of beauty, with her dark curls and brilliant blue eyes. Despite Illya’s initial apprehension, she proves easy to seduce, especially when he combines what he has been taught with some of Napoleon’s tricks. A perfectly angled smile, a well-timed flirtation, and she’s pressing against Illya’s side with clear interest.

Illya only feels uncomfortable. But still, he takes her back to his hotel room. When she’s lying naked in front of him, Illya feels nothing, so he performs as he was taught. Just like in the academy, the woman leaves with a smile on her face.

The next night, he goes to a different type of bar, and brings back someone with harder lines and tougher edges. It never starts feeling right, not even when he pretends it’s Napoleon moving above him. But Illya, determined, never says no.

Afterwards, he sits under the shower, fighting the sickness in his stomach and the panic in his chest. He doesn’t want it, being touched like that. He doesn’t want to be undressed by another person, doesn’t want to stand naked before leering faces, it doesn’t matter who it is, it will never matter who it is.

On the return trip to headquarters, Illya stares at the people around him with empty eyes, numb with understanding.

 

-

 

Illya wants Napoleon, but he doesn’t know how to want him in the right way. 

He wonders if maybe Napoleon would not mind. He is another man, and for Napoleon to have taken a risk like that, he had to have wanted it, he had to have been sure. Illya can’t be just another conquest to him. 

Hope stews inside, until the night it boils over and Illya knocks on Napoleon’s door. He’s planned out the conversation in his head. Illya is certain he’s prepared for whatever will happen. He’s considered every possibility, rejection, laughter, confusion, anger... except, he discovers when the door clicks open, the most likely outcome.

Napoleon’s hair is a tousled mess, and his clothes are disheveled, his shirt buttons undone. There’s a smear of red at his mouth. Illya’s words die on his lips.

“Illya,” Napoleon says, blinking at him. “What is it?”

In that moment, Illya understands. He is not what Napoleon needs.

“I’ll come another time,” he says, backing away.

“Wait, Illya.”

Illya freezes. Hope, rebellious, threatens to resurface.

“About what happened,” Napoleon says, quiet. “Are we… okay?”

Illya turns, his expression a careful mask of indifference. “It’s fine.”

Relief crosses Napoleon’s expression, and he lets out a breath, sagging visibly. “That’s good to know.”

There’s a flash of a smile that makes Illya’s heart skip, then, Napoleon glances back into the room. When he looks back, there’s an apology in his expression. “I should probably…”

Illya nods once, and the door closes.

It’s fine.

 

-

 

The fact is this: Illya can’t be what Napoleon deserves.

Illya knows he doesn’t have much to offer. He’s neither wealthy nor refined, and too brutish to be the type that Napoleon adores. He is too quick to anger and poor at controlling his rage. He is a communist, loyal to the KGB, and his views and opinions always rub Napoleon the wrong way.

The best Illya can offer is love. But when someone is as handsome and kind as Napoleon, he will never be short of people willing to love him. Beautiful people, who can give Napoleon the satisfaction he craves with their bodies, and who will find as much joy in Napoleon as he does in them. Illya would only be pretending, and Napoleon deserves better than a lie.

So Illya locks his heart in a box, puts that box in another box, and wraps both in chains set with locks. The box is sunk in the darkest, deepest place inside of him. The same place Illya hides the memories of his parents, and the faces of every innocent he’s killed.

Despite Illya’s best efforts, bloodied faces still haunt him through nightmares, and the soft ticking of his father’s watch is a constant reminder of loss and of shame. Even caged and submerged, the weight of Illya’s heart lingers, unshakeable, inescapable, just like Napoleon’s presence around him.

So Illya loves quietly, through thoughts and actions and observations. Illya loves through a bottle of Napoleon’s favorite scotch, left in the room with a card from the hotel. He loves through listening, remembering to ask questions when Napoleon is bursting to share a detail in his latest tale. He loves through the scope of a sniper rifle, silently destroying each and every threat to his tiny world and the person he loves.

Napoleon finds more people to entertain him in bed, both women and men. Illya stays in his room and loves like he is used to.

 

-

 

When the gun goes off, Illya doesn’t think as he throws himself in front of Napoleon.

He doesn’t die, but he makes a lot of people angry, Napoleon most of all. He tries to make Illya swear he’ll never do something that stupid again.

Illya refuses.

 

-

 

The next year, Illya carves a wolf to stand guard over Napoleon’s fox.

Gaby frowns when she sees it, and asks Illya why he didn’t carve another fox. That way, Napoleon’s would have a mate to keep it company.

Illya doesn’t have the words to explain, so he carves a second figure, thinking he’ll let Napoleon decide what he wants.

On the day, with two choices facing him, Napoleon takes the second fox.

Illya leaves the unwanted scrap of wood behind when they leave.

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from ['The Very Thought of You'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OpsisYQwz9c) by Nat King Cole.


End file.
